


Bend (and Brand) Me

by sunlit



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:56:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlit/pseuds/sunlit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baekhyun has spent all his life gaining things for other people. Kyungsoo is somebody he wants to keep for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bend (and Brand) Me

Lined with golden silk of the finest making, the grand oak doors before Xi’an bask in the gleaming morning sun, standing even taller and prouder than usual, lending an air of majesty to the structure. The long strands of fabric resemble intricate finishings made of molten gold as they glimmer against the length of the wood, as if caressed by the sun’s rays.

Xi’an serves many purposes in China, among them being the business hub and administrative capital, but chiefly, it is the Imperial City, core of the royal family’s rule, home to generations of kings and queens. As a matter of fact, it is because of the imperial palace that Baekhyun is here, skin at the mercy of the scorching sun as it climbs ever higher in the sky, awaiting his turn to pass the sentinels guarding the entrance to the city. Every year, the royal family holds a sparring competition in the palace grounds, opening their doors to every man who fancies a proper duel. Qualified finalists are rewarded handsomely with gold and a coveted position in the upper echelon of the imperial army, the kind of opportunity many able-bodied men would never forgo.

Baekhyun stands on the tips of his toes. The guard posts and checkpoints on either side of the large doors are all but invisible, concealed by the massive throngs of people. Being the capital city, hundreds and thousands of people seek entry to Xi’an daily, but Baekhyun has never seen traffic that could rival today’s.

“Get out of the way!” a harsh male voice yells, and Baekhyun jumps aside to make way for a cart carrying hay and what looks to be packages of provisions. It nearly misses him, the umpteenth one this morning alone.

Baekhyun reckons noon is upon Xi’an by the time he approaches the guardpost, if the position of the sun and the heat searing against his back are any indication. He knows he’s made of sterner stuff, but he dearly hopes his back and legs won’t be sore overnight; that wouldn’t do for the competition tomorrow at all. He breathes a drawn-out sigh of relief and relishes in the shade of the City Wall, just as he is beckoned forward by one of the four guards.

“Name?” the stocky man asks gruffly, his mouth almost entirely concealed by his thick beard.

Baekhyun hoists the bag he’s been carrying a bit higher over his shoulders and contemplates using an alias from his collection of alter egos. Maybe the one he used in Kouren? Or Yuzhou? He decides against it at the last minute and tells the guard his real name. A small smile tips the edges of his mouth upwards. “I’m here for the annual sparring competition.”

The guard chances him a skeptical glance. Baekhyun knows he doesn’t come across as somebody who takes joy in battle or enjoys any strenuous form of exercise; at least, not at first glance. He’s lean but not tall, built yet not overly muscular. Kind of like an errand boy, or in a more dignified context, a scholar. Certainly not a fighter. Baekhyun doesn’t say anything though, and continues to smile until at last, the guard lets out a noncommittal grunt and sends him well on his way.

Baekhyun steps past the threshold of the great wall and squints as the sunlight, now brighter than ever, falls into his eyes once more. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the din of the city and all the sins and politics that come with it.

Xi’an, at long last.

 

◇

 

_Kouren is coldest at night._

_The alleyways are dark and sickly, long tendrils that seem to disappear into endless tunnels of blackness, alluring in a nauseating way. They seem to call out to you, ghostly whispers carried aloft by the wind in a haunting, mismatched rhythm. Even the light from the lamps are nothing but decoys to lull you into a false sense of security, however infinitesimal it may be._

_Baekhyun shivers. It’s always unpleasant being out at night. He tightens his fingers on the hilt of his dagger, ready to yank it out of its sheath at the slightest unfamiliar sound. The wooden sign to an abandoned tavern creaks as Baekhyun passes it, causing him to jump and hasten his steps. He needs to get home. He needs to get away._

_The meagre amount of money he made from pickpocketing an intoxicated couple jingles in his pocket as he breaks into a run. It’s not much, maybe enough for two days, but it’s leagues better than mouldy bread from last week. He reaches out to grip at his coat, to silence the shrill tinkling amplified by the loneliness of the streets, but his hand is intercepted by icy fingers wrapping themselves around his wrist._

_He makes to scream, to fight, anything, but his voice withers away in his throat as his assailant forcefully turns him around. The man’s face is covered with grime and dirt, his lips pulled back in a disfigured smile that makes every hair on Baekhyun’s neck stand on end. What unnerves him the most and sends dread coursing through his veins is not the possibility that this is it - that this is how he might meet his end, at the tender age of ten without so much as a person to miss him - but the gaze that bores into him. A pair of eyes as black and soulless as the night sky stares back at him, pupils dilated and hazy. The grotesque smile on the man’s face widens as he slowly lifts Baekhyun’s hand._

_Horror impales Baekhyun like a spear to the heart when he realises his assailant isn’t after his money, but is hunting for food. The man opens his mouth, eyes gleaming with a perverse excitement as he prepares to clamp down on one of Baekhyun’s fingers---_

_It all happens so quickly._

_Baekhyun’s other hand frees his dagger from his belt and he slashes instinctively at the air. Nothing apparent happens, but the man sags lifelessly to the ground, blood spilling from what appears to be no more than a fine incision on the side of his neck. He lets out of wheezing bout of laughter, then falls silent, mouth and eyes still open. The traces of a perverse mirth linger on the man’s features, even as all semblance of life leave him, as if relishing in death._

_It’s frightening. The sound of Baekhyun’s heartbeat is a steady, deep beat in his ears, in tandem with the pounding of his eardrums and the rise and fall of his chest. He swallows, still acutely aware of the dagger in his hands._

_“You seem to have slit his jugular vein,” a soft voice jarringly interrupts the silence, made louder in the still of the night. Baekhyun jumps back, falling into what he hopes would be an adequate defensive stance. The newcomer continues calmly, unperturbed, “A messy cut, by my standards, but still almost perfectly executed, given you have no training.”_

_The light from the overhead lamp catches the man as he takes a few steps forward, casting him in an eerie pale green glow. His face is concealed by a hood, for the most part, and he is wrapped in black garb. Baekhyun can see his eyes, though, like flashes in the dark. They would’ve been completely unfeeling, if not for the tinge of amusement flitting through them. If anything, the man seems pleased at seeing a boy slaughter a man right in front of him, in self-defence or not._

_As the stranger approaches him with curt steps, Baekhyun hurriedly dips his hand into his coat pocket and produces half his catch, the gold coins sparkling beneath the lamp light. “P-Please, take this, don’t h-hurt me, I---”_

_“I don’t want your money. I want you,” the man says, in a tone of finality, holding out a hand between them. If the man is at all impatient, it doesn’t show in his voice. Baekhyun blinks, all words escaping him for a moment, then drops his gaze to the ground. He stares pointedly down at the ash grey cobblestone, blood slowly trickling along the crevices like a miniature river of ill crimson._

_Baekhyun knows this is not an offer to rescue him. This is an ultimatum, words sharp enough to cut and bleed him dry. The image of his blood mingling with the dead man’s, now pooling around his still corpse and seeping into the stone beneath him, burns at the back of Baekhyun’s eyelids. Escaping death comes at a heavy price; signing himself away will be but a small part of it._

_He takes the proffered hand and bites back a shudder when the stranger’s icy cold fingers grip his in turn._

_Kouren is_ always _coldest at night._

 

◇

 

Baekhyun’s eyes spring open.

Blackness still greets him, but it’s not the serene blanket of stars half-concealed by clouds. He finds himself staring at the ceiling of his room, streaked with strips of light from the window. He can feel his lips quivering, feel the burn in his muscles when he realises he’s been gripping the linen of his sheets too hard. His knuckles are a ghostly white. He hasn’t had that dream in a while.

Baekhyun slips off the bed soundlessly and pads over to the window. He uses the hem of his sleeve to wipe away the sweat forming on his brow as he leans against the glass. It’s cold and smooth against his skin.

Xi’an might be a sprightly, bustling city during the day, but it’s even busier, even more crowded at night. The streets are brimming with energy and packed with people of all ages. The red light from the lantern crosses paths with lights of every other colour from signboards and vendor stalls, casting a rainbowish glow over the town. Even from inside the inn, Baekhyun can hear the faint opera singing, and the cacophony of drums and gongs from what could either be a lion or dragon dance troupe.

It’s a chaotic buzz of activity and fun, but only to the untrained eye.

Baekhyun sinks deeper into the shadows of his unlit room, but his eyes rake across the streets, ever-watchful.

Several groups of men wait under the telltale red lights hung outside brothels and love houses. Ordinary men, perhaps, but their garments are made of embroidered silk, a luxury only the noblemen - ministers, emissaries, generals - can afford. They’re falling all over the women gathered by the threshold, robes hanging precariously loose on their shoulders.

Two shops down, at the mouth of a narrow alleyway, a boy and a girl - both no older than ten, by their looks - sink to the floor with their arms raised above their head, cut and bloody. A woman stands over them, bringing a cane down on the children’s skin again and again and again. Baekhyun wonders what would drive her to such extremes and tries to imagine her expression. Skirting the fringes of insanity, maybe. Terrifying in its beauty.

Xi’an is a grand convocation of corrupt people, out to feed only their own hunger and animalistic desires.

Just like him.

 

◇

 

Baekhyun swivels to the side, whistling low when he feels cold air miss his cheek by a hair’s breadth. _One._ His opponent, a big, tan brute by the name of Jinho, teeters out of control and staggers forward. He growls, clearly displeased at missing his mark, and charges again at Baekhyun with a mighty roar.

The cheers of the crowd are deafening, hoots and hollers and loud calling from the congregation of eliminated contestants, noise befitting the grand stage of the final round. Just as Baekhyun sidesteps the next blow, somebody yells, “Take him out, Jinho!” _Two._

Baekhyun clicks his tongue, but remains upright and standing. He doesn’t like crowds, but he dislikes swords even more. They’re too heavy and too long for his liking, too clumsy, too prone to making a mistake. But the rules of the sparring competition are as such, and he has no choice but to make do. He scuffs his foot against the ground; it’s uneven. He’ll have to work around that.

Jinho comes hurtling towards him with astonishing speed, bellowing mightily and putting all his force into his swing. Baekhyun takes a deep breath and sinks at the very last moment, driving the pommel of his sword into his opponent’s belly, disarming and incapacitating him with one blow.

_Three._

The ‘thud’ of Jinho’s body against the hard floor is drowned out by fierce cheering from the crowd of men gathered around Baekhyun. Jinho trembles on the floor, coughing small pools of blood, but Baekhyun turns away. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the winner of the 108th annual sparring competition, Byun Baekhyun!” The referee’s announcement is met with a mixture of raucous applause and hushed muttering from the participants - certainly nobody had banked on a dark horse to defeat their champion stallion.

Baekhyun bows once at the referee and makes to leave the arena, but his eyes flit towards the main building of the palace, where the Inner Court congregates every morning to discuss affairs of state. Just outside it, the occupants of the imperial palace stand watching. The palace elders and ministers speak amongst themselves, gesturing occasionally at him, whilst the army generals stand with their arms crossed and small, approving smiles on their faces. The maids-in-waiting are gathered in a cluster at the far end, all waving at him and falling into a fit of giggles after.

None of them concern him, save the woman sitting on a raised dais in the center of the row of spectators. In a long, flowing pale blue dress sits Luhan, Queen of China, her jet black hair falling in tresses. Her expression is not unkindly, but stoic, perhaps. As she stands to leave, she raises her chin slightly, eyes trained on him, almost as if regarding Baekhyun for all that he is. Three maids-in-waiting follow Luhan as she retreats into the main building of the palace, her gown and an air of mystery trailing behind her.

 

◇

 

The thought of attending an afterparty doesn’t actually occur to Baekhyun until he’s caught in the middle of it. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to retrieve his actual weapons after the competition; he’d been ushered to one of the smaller buildings in the palace complex. Several maids and an official already awaited him, and he was made to change into the garments set aside specifically for the victor of the competition before being whisked away to the grand dining hall to feast and drink with the noblemen and palace officials.

Even now, a goblet of wine in one hand and plates that never seem to empty before him, Baekhyun feels odd - he’s never been clothed in silk before, and he much prefers the scratchiness and familiarity of cotton. He does conceal his discomfort, though; it would be unbecoming to be ungrateful when a feast like this (however extravagant and unnecessary) has been thrown in his honour.

Baekhyun laughs whenever appropriate and smiles when the time is right, dipping his head with a shy grin on his face when general after general approach him to congratulate him and offer him a place in their respective armies. “Your litheness will be useful in war. Have you decided which of us you’d like to join?” one of the generals asks in a deep, booming voice.

“Not yet, sire,” Baekhyun says, smiling sheepishly. “I have heard tales of the greatness of all the armies of Xi’an, and it would be the highest honour to serve any one of them.”

The generals surrounding him laugh heartily, wine sloshing out of their goblets even as they speak through mouthfuls of bread and fruit. “I like this one,” General Shou declares, thumping his chest. “A choice lies ahead of you, boy, but no matter which of us you end up choosing, your skills would be of great use to Xi’an.”

One of the ladies-in-waiting refills his goblet, the ends of her sleeve brushing against Baekhyun’s shoulder as she casts him a shy smile. Baekhyun inclines his head and sports a grin to match the general’s.

Somebody clears their throat, a newer, softer voice. “Her Majesty requests the presence of today’s victor in her office, m’lords.” A boy with wispy blond hair stands on the other side of the table, all sharp lines and angles, mouth contorted in a smirk that Baekhyun can tell he’s trying to keep polite. The generals all groan in unison, displeased sounds of dismay. One of them pats Baekhyun hard on the back. “Well, there goes, m’boy, if the Lady wants to see you, I doubt you’ll be joining any one of us.”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow and is about to ask what they mean, but the boy looks impatient enough, so Baekhyun doesn’t press the issue further. He excuses himself from the table and makes sure to thank the generals for their generosity and company.

“Come with me.”

Baekhyun follows the boy - to his surprise - out one of the side exits, not through the grand doors which he’d entered, and is led down a hallway lined with tapestries and torches. The boy unsettles him, somewhat, clad in only minimum armour and bearing no weapon, yet walks with the stature of a fully-trained soldier. As they round a corner, Baekhyun sees the small scarf he’s wearing. Despite his surprise, he stays his expression by force. From observation, Baekhyun knows all the guards and soldiers wear them, scarves of different colours to indicate which of the seven armies they serve.

Yellow, green, white and brown are the secondary armies, usually dispatched to the outlying districts to handle thievery and small rebellions. Those bearing blue and red scarves are of the high houses, larger armies tasked with guarding the provinces closer to Xi’an, home to several generations of noble families, renowned craftsmen and merchant organisations.

This boy’s scarf is purple.

_The imperial guard._

Evening is swiftly falling upon Xi’an, casting shadows in the crevices and junctures of the palace. They’re outside now. The air is cool against his skin; not too cold, but just nice. Not a soul in sight, since the palace occupants have congregated in the grand hall for the feast he’d just left, but Baekhyun notices the boy maintains his caution. He keeps them both in the shadows even along the winding outdoor corridors of the palace complex.

Several turns later, the boy motions for Baekhyun to stop outside a pair of grand wooden doors - mahogany, by the looks of it - then opens them a crack and slips in.

Only when Baekhyun looks up does he notice the sheer breadth of the building; one he’d seen only hours before, the main hall of the imperial palace. From where he stands, he can see the open space where the competition arena had been in the morning. Sculpted dragons wind around the pillars flanking both sides of the grand entrance, glowing softly under the evening light, testament to the fairness and absoluteness of China’s imperial line of rulers. Baekhyun hums in appreciation as he runs a finger along part of the dragon’s body on the left pillar, feeling his fingers dip every time they pass over a gap between its scales. He marvels at their fineness; it would otherwise have gone unnoticed from afar.

The boy’s blond head pops out from behind the door. “This way,” he says.

Beyond the entrance, a secondary pair of doors await at the far end of the spectacularly lit hall, to the Empress’ office. The blond boy closes the door behind them. Baekhyun is greeted by shelf upon shelf of books and archaic scrolls, tomes of knowledge and history. Tomes of secrets.

The lock of the door sounds behind him, loud in the quiet of the room.

Behind the great desk filled with yet more books and stacks of papers sits Luhan, hands clasped on the wooden surface. Baekhyun bows, low and deep, and makes sure to hold his position until she tells him otherwise.

“Raise your head, warrior.” The lilting of her soft words belies the danger that lay dormant in her being. Everything about her reminds Baekhyun of a river, cold but light, gentle but powerful.

Up close, under the light of the lamp, Luhan is even more beautiful than he’d seen her during the day. She’s still wearing the same ice blue dress, but he can see just how fair of face she is now, porcelain skin unblemished and big, brown eyes perceptive. She would otherwise seem demure, but the slow-burning fire in her stance and face tells Baekhyun otherwise.

She stares at him a little while longer, then leans back in her seat. “Byun Baekhyun, you’ve impressed me today. You made your final opponent a fool,” she says, choosing her words carefully.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, he was a man of power. But with that great strength came an equal amount of clumsiness, and it detracted from his reflexes,” Baekhyun answers honestly.

“You felled all your opponents in three strikes or less.”

The count of one, two, three rings in Baekhyun’s ears. His challengers were pitiful at best in the preliminaries and only marginally better in the semi-finals. Two strokes for the average one; three for those slightly more skilled. “I did.”

Luhan hums. “Ten finalists from today’s competition will be granted a position in the army of their choice, including you.” The man on her left, fairly tall and donning the same clothes as his blond escort, places a bundle on the desk, one that Baekhyun recognises almost immediately. “But I will make your choice for you, Byun Baekhyun.”

She fixes her gaze on him, but maintains an air of nonchalance. “You will serve _me_ , as part of the imperial guard. You will answer only to me. You will take orders only from me. This is an elite squad, my personal guard, and henceforth, riches and protection will extend to you also.” This is not an offer, and Baekhyun knows an ultimatum when he hears one. He’s been there before.

He drops to one knee and places a fist on the ground before him, dipping his head. “I pledge fealty and service to you, Your Majesty, for as long as the throne and the right to rule is yours.”

“Very well.”

When Baekhyun next lays eyes on Luhan, she seems satisfied, elated, even, and beckons him closer. She swiftly undoes the strings holding the bundle of cloth together, pushes the fabric back to reveal two pristine, small daggers. Baekhyun’s original weapons, the ones he’d carried with him for as long as he can remember, relinquished to the palace weaponmaster for safekeeping before the sparring competition had begun.

Luhan runs her fingers along the surface of the blade, polished so clearly that her beautiful reflection could be seen in them. “For all your prowess, you seemed... uncomfortable with a sword. You work best with shorter blades, I take it?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

She gestures to her left, at the boy that had escorted Baekhyun from the dining hall earlier. “Zitao here prefers poisoned darts, and Yixing,” she motions to her right, at the boy that had produced the bundle with his daggers earlier, “the bow and arrow. You would complete this trio nicely.”

Baekhyun meets their eyes proper for the first time. Zitao looks much warmer now, a small smile on his lips, blond hair falling into his tanned face as he tilts his head towards Baekhyun in acknowledgment. There is no bow in sight, but Yixing’s arrows are in a satchel fastened behind his back. He flashes Baekhyun a brilliant grin, returned in similar fashion.

“Then I will see you tomorrow,” Luhan says, ordering Yixing to give Baekhyun a short tour of the palace before showing him to his designated room. She dismisses all three of them with a wave of her hand.

Zitao is first to take the watch tonight, so he bids Baekhyun farewell and disappears into the shadows once again. Yixing shakes his head somewhat fondly, as he and Baekhyun fall into step next to each other. “Zitao’s a good kid. I was here first, but he’s always been really faithful to Luhan,” he says.

A blanket of curiosity seems to fall on them both; Yixing is curious about him, and Baekhyun has questions about everything. Almost as if to break the ice, Yixing pats him lightly on the shoulder. “We were all watching you today. Luhan sees a lot in you, you know,” he comments earnestly.

Baekhyun smiles, somewhat glad that he can slip back into more informal speech. “Thanks.”

They continue to make small talk as Yixing shows him around the palace. Baekhyun notices Yixing keeps his voice to a whisper outside, probably out of habit. Yixing shows him the Inner Court, where the palace officials and ministers congregate every morning to report to the Empress, then a few places of lesser importance, like the armoury and the imperial archives. Whenever they pass one of the ministry offices, Yixing runs through important names with Baekhyun to get him acquainted with the figures inside the palace. Their last stop before Baekhyun’s room is Luhan’s chambers, just after the archives.

“The night watch is usually concentrated around Luhan’s chambers,” Yixing explains, turning two corners to a long corridor with smaller rooms. He points to a door on his left, then at another one four doors away. “This is where I am, and that’s yours. Sorry it’s a bit further off, the ones in the middle belong to the keepers of the archive.” Yixing smiles sheepishly, then as an afterthought, adds, “When they’re not just sleeping over their work, that is.”

Yixing tells Baekhyun he can join the guard tomorrow after the prize presentation ceremony, and that he should rest for the night. Baekhyun worries his lower lip. “One more question.”

“Hm?”

Baekhyun gestures around him awkwardly. “I mean, I’ve only met you and Zitao, but... how many of us are there in the imperial guard?”

Yixing blinks at him, then chuckles. “Not all the victors become part of the imperial guard, Baekhyun. Neither do you necessarily have to be a victor. Luhan watches it every year and will only choose someone if they stand out to her. I was second runner-up in my year.”

Gazing at the sky, Yixing places his hands flat against the railing. “There used to be this other guy; his name was Chen, I think. He joined us two years after I did, and he was great and everything, then he just disappeared. No word, no trace. That left just me and Zitao, but now there’s you, so that makes three of us.”

Baekhyun tries not to let his surprise show. “Just us three?”

“Yes. Luhan has... very high standards. Elite of the elite, right?” Yixing laughs softly.

 

◇

 

Baekhyun doesn’t turn on the lights in his room. He looks around, inspecting every square inch. The furniture has been kept to a bare minimum - a wooden desk, a cupboard for his belongings and a bed, surprisingly soft. Baekhyun catches peculiar shadows out of the corner of his eye, moonlight from the single window playing tricks on him.

He stands by the window, fingering the small ribbon in his pocket for the first time today. Nigh on three weeks ago, he’d woken up to a single white rose and a letter, fastened together with a small strip of red cloth. Not the first of the letters, but certainly the first of the flowers. The message read:

_I’m always watching you, Byun Baekhyun. Best this last series of orders I have for you, and to you, I will reveal myself. To you also, I will extend an invitation to join me._

_Be at the imperial sparring competition. The Empress’ time on the throne is drawing to a close._

Baekhyun had spent a large part of his years at a cottage on the outskirts of Yuzhou, hidden from the nearest townsfolk behind impossible fens and a thin forest. He pickpocketed for food, stole fruit and meat when the traders weren’t looking. It helped keep him alive, and it was good training. He spent his days with his benefactor, learning the practice of murder. It was graceful, it was precise, it was an art. It was something Baekhyun discovered he was surprisingly prodigious at. He pleased his benefactor to no end, learning faster than any student should. Which is why the sudden departure of his benefactor, without word or cause, had plunged him into confusion.

The letters began coming the first night he slept alone in the cottage.

They became his sole purpose in life, his sense of direction. The writer spoke not in the tone of his benefactor, but as someone who’d been watching Baekhyun from the shadows, someone who knew his story and much more than an anonymous figure should.

More often than not, the letters bore the name of a person, or an address, or a job description, with an order to kill. Other times, they contained praises for his latest ‘masterpiece’. One time, it was a simple _you’re beautiful_.

Baekhyun burnt all the letters.

He shuts his eyes and rests his fingers on the chain around his neck, given to him by his benefactor when Baekhyun had first been taken under his wing. The only testament to who he was, and even now, as imperial guard Byun Baekhyun, who he is.

Only when he finally slips under the sheets does he allow himself the smile he’s been holding in.

Things seem to be going his way, with the wind behind its back.

 

◇

 

A messenger is already waiting for Baekhyun outside when he emerges from his room. The boy, small and probably in his teens, leads him to the main building again, to the massive hall he’d been in yesterday. In bright daylight, the hall seems even more majestic that it had been the night before. Sunlight bathes the fine marble, and where it falls on the Empress’ throne, the gold is set aglow. Today, Luhan is clothed in a dress of bright and fiery crimson.

The prize presentation ceremony seems a grand affair; there are even more people gathered in the hall than there was at the honorary feast. Baekhyun can see all manner of the palace’s occupants, from ministers to scholars to the ladies-in-waiting. To each of the men, Luhan presents a bag of gold, a brand-new sword and an assortment of scarves for the men to choose from.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the victor of the 108th annual sparring competition of Weiyang Palace, Byun Baekhyun!”

Soft, almost intrigued applause accompanies Baekhyun as he walks up to Luhan, kneeling a few paces away from her. Instead of a sword, she brandishes a new dagger, a dragon sculpted into the wood of its hilt. She places it in his outstretched hands together with his bag of gold. Shocked gasps and low murmurs erupt throughout the hall when Luhan produces a purple silk scarf from the tray offered to her by a lady-in-waiting and fastens it around Baekhyun’s neck.

“May these serve you well,” Luhan says. Favouritism would be heavily frowned upon, so she doesn’t smile, but Baekhyun can see sincerity in her eyes. He looks away.

The plethora of faces and emotions that greet him as he makes his way back to his spot is almost overwhelming. Longing and approval from the generals, intrigue from the palace officials and scholars, burning jealousy from his fellow competitors. Not everybody - or nobody, really - makes it to the imperial guard, after all.

Luhan is delivering her closing words when Baekhyun catches somebody’s gaze. The boy seems young, maybe his age, a little bit younger, with a similar physique. He looks like a scholar, but he isn’t wearing their white uniform. His robes are a pale blue with delicate embroidery down the front. The boy smiles, inclining his head slightly. Baekhyun would have written him off as another demure, polite character in the palace, maybe a diplomat’s son. Senior among the scholars.

But the depth in the boy’s eyes is magnetic, an invitation for Baekhyun to come and drown in them. Something flits across them, light as a feather but heavy and dark, runs away just as quickly as it had come.

Baekhyun licks his lips. It’s something he wants to catch.

 

◇

 

Afternoon watch isn’t until later for Baekhyun, so he settles with roaming around the palace and familiarising himself as best he can to pass the time. He comes to appreciate the tiny details that had gone unnoticed in the dimness of the evening before, like the architecture of the roof or the carvings on the pillars. In the day, the palace seems bigger, sunlight easing a breath of fresh air into the hallways.

He wanders past the Secretary’s department and takes note of the other ministry offices he passes, drawing a map of the palace out in his mind as he goes. He might need it, just in case.

Baekhyun ends up straying near the archives, which he recognises from the doors, uniquely fashioned with a golden handle. Statuettes of lionesses flank the sides of the doors, elegant keepers of the knowledge contained within.

The scent of ancient books and scrolls permeates his nostrils as he steps into the archives, row upon row of shelves filled with generations’ worth of information and literature. The archives are much larger than they appear on the outside, Baekhyun notices, bookcases extending almost as far as the eye can see on both sides, each neatly labelled by section.

He picks one at random, fifth to the right from the entrance - its tag reads Chinese Scriptures. He dusts off one of the scrolls and unfurls it. If anything at all, Baekhyun only appreciates the stunning calligraphy and marvels at the small paintings that accompany the text. He hadn’t had the privilege of going to school or learning how to read. His benefactor had taught him a little bit, but Baekhyun is no more proficient at reading than an elementary student would be.

“Having trouble?”

The voice is velvety and sinful, low in tone but lilting in melody. It surprises Baekhyun, having come out of nowhere, but his first instinctual feeling is to want more of it. To drown in it to the point of no return.

Baekhyun looks up, and his breath catches in his throat. The boy he’d seen at the prize presentation ceremony earlier gazes back at him now, leaning against the bookshelf next to him. Baekhyun recognises him in a fraction of a heartbeat - raven blue hair, porcelain skin that could rival even Luhan’s fair complexion, deep set gray eyes that tell of a hundred different tales. In such close proximity, the boy’s beauty assails Baekhyun’s senses like a series of explosions, sending him into complete disarray.

The voice might have been sinful, but its owner even more so.

Baekhyun isn’t entirely sure where the courage bubbling in him comes from. “If I were, would you stay?”

The boy laughs. The sound crawls under Baekhyun’s skin and embeds itself in his heart. “The line you’re trying so hard to read says, ‘To the high heavens you will take me, but drop me not lest I were to escape from this love, from this cage to which I desire to be eternally bound. The wind will cut into my skin, but no wound will hurt more than the one in my heart.’”

Baekhyun doesn’t press him further, content with just the sound of his voice, more beautiful than any and all prose, when the boy continues, “This is the story of a young couple who fall into treacherous love. The man promised to take her to the stars, but on his way up, he drops her and she falls to her death.” The boy’s gaze lifts from the scroll to Baekhyun’s features, searching him.

For lack of a better word to use, Baekhyun says, “That’s really sad.”

The boy nods his agreement. He pries the scroll out of Baekhyun’s hands and slides it back into its spot on the shelf. It’s fire against fire when their gazes meet, never breaking, never faltering. Baekhyun is determined to win this, to be the one to look into the very recesses of the boy’s soul and discover what it is that makes him so captivating. This is one time Baekhyun doesn’t like being in the dark.

“Do you...” The boy tugs Baekhyun forward by the front of his undershirt. Baekhyun isn’t wearing his armour. Unprotected, vulnerable, susceptible. “Do you want me to stay?” he asks, voice now even lower than it was before, coarser.

Baekhyun inhales slowly.

“I want your name,” he murmurs, low so that no one else in the archives can hear them. He rests one hand on a shelf above the boy’s head, the first bar in his cage.

The boy laughs again, and slips out from under Baekhyun’s arm. “I like secrets, Byun Baekhyun. I have dealings with secrets every day.” He gestures around the room, at the books and scriptures laden with years of history. “Maybe if you come here more often, you’ll find the answer.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Well, we’ll see who learns each other’s secrets first, then.” The boy’s smile is lopsided but enticing, and Baekhyun wants nothing more than to sear the image behind his eyelids, maybe except to own him and unravel him, careful string by careful string.

“I look forward to it.” A promise. Baekhyun doesn’t make promises often.

Long after the boy leaves, Baekhyun is left trying to quench the fire on his skin where they’d touched and his unrelenting thirst for more.

 

◇

 

Baekhyun’s first time taking the first watch of the day is also the first time he watches the palace’s inner court in session. From his position a few paces behind Luhan, he has a full view of the hall. The imperial secretary delivers initial reports about the people and the administration, followed by a collective address of issues brought up by the different ministries and departments.

The entire affair is interesting, politics and hidden agendas abound. The lines between loyalty, personal gain and responsibility have never seemed so thin. Baekhyun pays attention as best he can, but it gets increasingly difficult when all he can see and hear is the boy he’d met at the archives. Baekhyun had guessed that he held a position of relative importance in the palace, if his clothes and stature were anything to go by, but the thought of him being part of the inner court hadn’t even crossed Baekhyun’s mind. The boy is a person of few words, but be as that may, he delivers his points with an enviable succinctness and eloquence, countering many officials senior in both status and age.

For the most part, the boy remains quiet. When he isn’t watching the court, he watches Baekhyun, the stoicism in his face never tainting the curiosity in his eyes. Baekhyun observes him in return, notes his small habits, like the way he tends to brush his hair to the right when they tickle his eyes, or the way he clasps his hands together under the table.

It becomes a battlefield of their own, a mental war, but it never seems to jar the boy’s concentration.

After his fourth morning watching over the Empress’ meetings with the officials, a week and three days since their encounter in the archives, Baekhyun asks Yixing who the boy is. “The scholar kid?” Yixing asks again, confused.

Baekhyun gestures towards the boy. He has his back turned to them, engaged in polite conversation with two old men, whom Baekhyun recognises as the ministers of finance. He says something and laughs, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. Baekhyun’s lips curve downwards in a frown; the boy’s smile is pretty. He makes it a point to tell him not to hide it the next time they meet.

“Oh, him.” Yixing tightens the strap of his satchel. “He’s one of the two Keepers of the Archives, officially. He was a scholar before that, I think, but he keeps a super low-profile so no one actually knows. I don’t think I’ve ever even spoken to him before in my years here,” he trails off thoughtfully.

Baekhyun turns around at the sound of a soft cough and is greeted by the sight of two young men. One of them is tall and broad-shouldered, almost towering over Baekhyun, regarding him with sharp eyes. He stands with all the regality of a prince, although his raiment is significantly less outlandish compared to Luhan’s. His companion is less intimidating both in height and looks, but his gentle appearance belies a quiet, deadly power.

Yixing smiles fondly at them. “Gentlemen, this is Byun Baekhyun, the newest member of the imperial guard. Baekhyun, this is Wu Yifan, chief of the palace’s advisors, and Kim Junmyeon, the youngest ever to head the Secretary’s department.”

Baekhyun notices, with equal amounts of awe, wariness and surprise, that so much power is in the hands of people so painfully young.

After an exchange of formalities, Junmyeon smiles at Baekhyun. “If you’re wondering, the gentleman you were referring to is Do Kyungsoo. He’s almost always at the archives; Yifan and I see him often when we have to go pull up records.”

Baekhyun turns around. The boy catches Baekhyun’s gaze just as he exchanges goodbyes with the ministers.

_Do Kyungsoo, I win._

 

◇

 

In the evening, Baekhyun returns to his room, to a lonesome note barely larger than the size of his palm and folded into a tiny square, placed atop his pillow. In it lay a single rose petal, blood red, and _time is up, byun baekhyun_ scrawled in ink.

A familiar thrill courses through his veins, the telltale signs of his primal instincts rising from their dormant state. Suddenly, everything seems sharper, clearer. The sounds of his breathing and the pumping of his heart overlap in a messy song.

He clicks his tongue. He’d meant to visit the archives tonight, but Do Kyungsoo and his declaration of victory would have to wait.

 

◇

 

Baekhyun bides his time slowly in the corridors. He knows Luhan usually retires to her chambers past midnight, when sleep beguiles her and work can no longer keep her awake. Depending how long she tarries, Baekhyun only has a small window of time to get things done, maybe slightly more, if he’s lucky. Yixing has the west wing and Zitao will be by the gates, the archive keepers will be--- no, he doesn’t have time to think about them. He can slip past them.

Luhan’s chambers are in the east wing, first to receive the sunlight and last to lose it. A pair of guards are positioned at each of the sharp turns in the corridors leading up to her room. They reciprocate his curt nods of acknowledgment and step aside when he approaches them. Baekhyun straightens the end of his purple scarf - it’s both a blessing and a curse. It helps make his work less messy, he supposes; having to kill nigh on two dozen men is more likely to cause a commotion, but he misses the challenge.

But no matter, he decides, he’s about to tackle a more interesting challenge anyway. Two guards flank the door to Luhan’s chamber, eyes vigilant and grip firm on their spears. Baekhyun can take them out when they bow their heads, or when they exchange greetings, or by creeping up to them in the shadows. Anytime, really, but that would be suspicious - there are other guards around the corner, and they’d be listening. The guards of the innermost corridor are bound by duty to question whomever approaches, unless they mean to take the corridor to the right, towards the gardens.

“What brings you here, sire?” one of them asks as Baekhyun draws near.

“Nothing, just going to check the gardens.” He shakes his head, punctuates his statement with a smile. It’s the last thing they see.

A simultaneous swipe of both his blades slices clean against their throats, severing their carotid arteries. A fine incision, but the damage is done. Baekhyun catches both their spears and slowly eases their limp bodies to the ground, careful not to rouse the other guards, or even Luhan. She’d overheard his conversation with Yixing from inside her study once; he knows her better than to let his guard down even when she’s sleeping.

 _You know her_ , a voice at the back of his head chides. He reaches for the guards’ scarfs and tie them around their necks, stemming the slow but steady gurgle of blood tumbling out of the cut. _She’s different._

He shuts the voice out of his head, but to a certain degree, it spoke the truth. This isn’t his first job undercover, but this is the first time he’s gotten to know his target before going for the kill. It’s different. Baekhyun isn’t sure if it’s difficult.

Luhan’s chambers are massive, but the darkness is permeated only by one narrow window high on the wall. It’s safer this way, but the loneliness in every line on the floor, in every page of the books spread open on her desk, in every one of her mirrors, is frighteningly poignant. Familiar, even.

Stripped of all her headgear and outlandish robes, Luhan is surprisingly small. Curled up into the sheets, breathing softly, she looks thin and petite, vulnerable, devoid of her mask of composure and the title of Empress. Lines of worry crease her face. She’s still just a girl, and it occurs to Baekhyun that he doesn’t know how old she is, if she had anyone she loved, if---

“Baekhyun?”

Luhan’s eyes flutter open and she pushes the sheets away groggily. “What’s wr---” Her words end in a choked gurgle as Baekhyun blade finds its way across the skin on her neck. Her eyes go wide and she struggles to lift a hand to push him away. It takes but a few seconds for her to expend her energy trying to breathe; she slumps back onto the pillows, blood seeping into the linen, her cotton nightgown, her straight, black hair. Hurt and betrayal are set into the hollow depths of her eyes, once filled with intellect and courage. Baekhyun shuts them with a gentle hand.

He sheaths his daggers, clean despite the cuts they’ve made. By his reckoning, the kill took less time than he’d anticipated. Just as he pads across the length of the hallway to the doors, they open, a small sliver of light from the outside piercing the darkness of Luhan’s chambers. “Your Majesty?” a soft voice calls, and for the first time in a very long time, Baekhyun’s heart leaps into his throat.

Baekhyun takes down the person who spoke, a ginger-haired man, killing him instantly with a slash much larger than he’s used to, probably deep enough to severe both the carotid artery and jugular vein. The figure falls noiselessly onto the carpeted floor, but Baekhyun doesn’t wait to see what happens. He presses the man’s companion against the wood of the door, but he stays his blade the moment he looks up.

Staring back at him with eyes blacker than the night is Do Kyungsoo, hands balled into fists at his side and biting on his lower lip. Baekhyun tightens his grip on his dagger, and forgets to breathe.

Kyungsoo lifts a hand to shut the door, the wood sliding into place behind him. His laugh sounds both bitter and sweet in the night. “Do it. Don’t wait.”

Baekhyun rests the sharp end of the blade against Kyungsoo’s skin. The moonlight casts a ring of silver around his gray irises, traces of fear aglow in the dark. But Kyungsoo doesn’t shake, doesn’t beg for mercy, doesn’t break. His small smile is tight-lipped, refusing Baekhyun his secrets and his stories. There is no regret or surprise in his face, only defiance.

Kyungsoo is fire. Kyungsoo is a challenge. Kyungsoo is a change in tides. The very fibre of Kyungsoo’s being is danger, and danger is all Baekhyun has ever known and all Baekhyun has ever loved.

Baekhyun wants to see him break and wants to be the one to break him.

“Afraid?” Kyungsoo whispers.

Baekhyun pulls down the collar of his robe, careful not to tear the fabric, hashing a small cross just below Kyungsoo’s collarbone with the very tip of the dagger. Kyungsoo grimaces when the metal pierces his skin. Baekhyun slowly brings his mouth to the cut, eyes never leaving Kyungsoo’s, tongue flitting outward to lap at the small drops of blood. He can feel the tensing of Kyungsoo’s muscles, taste the terrible mix of his fear and love for the dark. “I will destroy all that you know and love,” Baekhyun mouths against the skin. “Do Kyungsoo.”

The smallest hint of surprise crosses Kyungsoo’s face at the sound of his name, but disappears as swiftly as a racing deer. “Don’t make promises you’ll regret, Byun Baekhyun.” His voice is cold and hard, but when he wipes off the tiny traces of blood on Baekhyun’s lip, his touch is gentle, possessive.

Baekhyun leaves for the south wing. Kyungsoo takes the corridor to the left, back from whence he had come and to the archives.

 

◇

 

Xi’an is at its most beautiful during the limbo between night and day. The very edge of the south wing has a stunning view of the horizon beyond the castle walls, where a fine line of gold has begun to seep into the navy expanse of the sky. It’s narrow, barely enough, but there; just like the no-man zone between taking risks and plunging into danger. Infatuation and love.

Baekhyun rubs his eyes blearily. It’s cold.

Yixing rounds the corner abruptly, steps purposeful and hurried, whispers his name harshly. The usual lingering smile on his face is gone, mouth turned downwards in a frown that doesn’t become him at all. His eyes are wet and glossy, and he worries his lip between his teeth. Baekhyun automatically falls into step next to him, following him as they veer away from the south wing and take the shortcut between the ministerial block to the central court. He places a hand on Yixing’s arm cautiously. “Yixing, what happened?”

“Luhan... is dead,” Yixing replies, only slightly louder than a whisper, not trusting his voice to remain steady.

Baekhyun’s hand and gaze drops at the same time; they continue walking in silence. A dash of worry, a spoonful of grief - he’s been brewing his facade long enough. Time to bring it to the table.

Yixing leads him into the Secretary’s office. At the desk is Junmyeon, pressing his chin against the back of his clasped hands, lips pursed. He looks dishevelled and lost, far from the composed figure Baekhyun had been introduced to in the morning. Yifan leans against a bookcase, consoling what appears to be a weeping Zitao. Huddled around the corner of the desk are a few elders Baekhyun recognises from the morning court. The moment Yixing and Baekhyun enter, the room falls into complete silence, punctuated only by Zitao’s soft sobs and the closing of the door behind them.

Yifan shuts his eyes, obviously strained. “How did this happen,” he says quietly. It doesn’t sound like a question, not when every person in the room can’t possibly provide an answer.

“Where were you three?” one of the ministers snap at them. “Your watch was supposed to be concentrated around Luhan’s chambers. How on earth did the culprit manage to sneak past you?”

Baekhyun is acutely aware of another set of eyes he hadn’t noticed before, electrifying in the dark. Kyungsoo has his back against the closed window, half-shrouded in shadow, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze is telling, the most emotion Baekhyun has seen in him since they met. Worry, anguish and - despite the situation - his ever-present curiosity. _How will you explain this?_

“Luhan’s chambers is in the east wing.” Yixing sounds low and broken and Baekhyun touches his shoulder gently, but makes no move to interrupt. “All three of us keep a close eye on the east wing and return to it the most throughout the night watch, but we don’t stay there the entire time. Whoever did this had his timing right.” He clenches and unclenches his fist, meaning to say more, but Baekhyun can see the tears stinging his eyes.

Junmyeon raises an eyebrow. “Do you mean to say he managed to get past the entire post of guards without being noticed?”

Baekhyun has a practiced answer on the tip of his tongue, but Kyungsoo beats him to it. “No,” he says. “The killer probably took the way from the archives, not the main corridor. There are less guards and less torches there. I deeply apologise for not having been more alert; he could have slipped past me.” His voice breaks at the end. Kyungsoo taking the brunt of the explanation would make things more believable, but Baekhyun marvels at his theatrics. He’s a surprisingly good liar, despite his modest looks.

An elder shakes his head. “Do not bear this weight on your shoulders, boy; you wouldn’t have heard him walk if he can slay four people and escape unnoticed.”

Yixing furrows his eyebrows. “Four?”

“The guards to Her Majesty’s chambers, the Queen herself, and the second Keeper of the Archives, Kim Minseok,” Junmyeon confirms wearily.

Silence blankets the entire room again. Baekhyun decides it would be unwise to maintain his silence. “Was the other Keeper not with you?” he asks, directing the question to Kyungsoo.

The reply is curt. “He was unwell and told me he would retire to his room for the night. He must’ve crossed paths with the killer.” Then, in a more wounded, softer voice that Baekhyun wanted to caress and comfort, “Minseok was a good man.”

Everybody seems to withdraw into themselves, lost in the jumble of thoughts and confusion that would, without a doubt, take Xi’an by storm once the news broke with the morning. Baekhyun reckons they’d be able to keep the death under wraps until things are set straight within the palace, but not for long after. Junmyeon speaks up. “We cannot delay. Somebody will have to take up the mantle and rule, at least for a few days, until we reach the prince. It will take him several days on horseback to get to Xi’an, even if he rides without sleep.”

Baekhyun bites back his surprise. _There’s a prince...?_

One of the ministers, probably the oldest Baekhyun has laid eyes on, strokes his long white beard. In a croaky voice, he says, “By right, temporary rule will fall to the chief advisor, given Her Majesty has no immediate siblings.”

Yifan’s eyes widen as he springs forward. “Surely my father is a better candidate, even if his lordship will only be for a short amount of time?”

The minister’s eyes seem to soften. “My boy, your father is ill and is not fit to take the throne. You know that.” He places a hand on Yifan’s shoulder, and it seems to Baekhyun that it slumps under the weight of the crown he suddenly has to bear. People will look to Yifan to keep the country aloft, their anchor until this ‘prince’ arrives, but Baekhyun knows the chaos will never go away, not until the killer is brought to justice.

They might as well get used to the chaos, then.

Baekhyun takes the ensuing silence as a chance to watch Kyungsoo. He’s still hanging back, watching the scene unfold before him, but he catches Baekhyun’s gaze and drinks him in.

Yifan runs a hand down his face, weighing his options and realising they’re sorely limited. “I will take up the position,” he finally agrees, looking worn out and weary, but the ministers nod and murmur among themselves in approval. Yifan appeals to the gathered elders to appoint Junmyeon to replace him in his now-vacant position. “I’m certain you remember that he has a political background and was one of Luhan’s favoured advisors before he moved to the Secretary’s office.”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. He never would’ve pegged Junmyeon as someone to dabble in politics. He seems too neutral. But Baekhyun should know better than anybody that still waters run deep, so he says nothing, but surprise registers on Zitao’s and Kyungsoo’s faces, if not Yixing’s.

“Send messengers to depart for His Highness’ kingdom immediately. They should leave before daybreak.” Yifan relays instructions to Junmyeon as the small gathering disperses. They leave the room deep in discussion, and Yixing breaks away from Baekhyun to console Zitao.

Kyungsoo brushes past Baekhyun on the way out, fingers lingering on his wrist on purpose. He leans in close, the cloth of his robes pressing against Baekhyun’s bare arm and whispers into his ear.

“Don’t get caught, Byun Baekhyun.”

_Stay with me._

 

◇

 

News travels far too fast for the palace to keep at bay. Word of the Empress’ untimely death scorches its way through the town like wildfire. A riot breaks out in the marketplace by late morning; the citizens are angry and thirsty for justice, and have taken to picketing outside the palace to demand a full-out search for the assassin. Yifan doubles the number of guards in every wing of the palace, digging the bottom of the barrel with personnel. The generals recall their own men from the outlying armies to help keep the situation from spiralling out of control, channelling men to the gates and perimeter.

Luhan is well-loved not only among the people, but also among the occupants of the palace, Baekhyun realises. When he’s not signing something or issuing orders, Yifan quietly mourns her death, staring into space and thinking of what could’ve been. Junmyeon is worn down by early afternoon, exhaustion beginning to seep into his actions and features. The ladies-in-waiting that used to attend to Luhan cry together by the pagoda in the gardens. Zitao refuses the day of leave Yixing offers him and carries out his duties with renewed vigour, but Baekhyun can still the glassiness of his eyes.

Baekhyun spends the day alternating between guarding the main body of the palace and the south wing. Everywhere he goes, he sees the hurt in Luhan’s eyes and feels the heat of Kyungsoo’s breath against his neck. It’s overwhelming.

 

◇

 

Baekhyun is silently grateful that Zitao has the evening watch, otherwise he wouldn’t have enough energy to spare to stay awake the entire night. He didn’t ever like consecutive shifts. From the window of his room, he can see the glow of fires above the perimeter wall; the rioting outside the palace gates must still be underway. Lying flat on his bed, arms spread against the sheets, the room seems deathly quiet after all the havoc.

A sharp rap on the door brings Baekhyun to his feet in an instant. The sudden exertion causes his muscles to protest. One hand is poised on his dagger, ever at the ready, while the other slowly turns the handle of the door. Kyungsoo stands on the other side, a sight all too familiar - raven hair falling in wisps, face set in defiance and fists firm by his side. Baekhyun considers his options, looks around for an audience and lets Kyungsoo in, wordlessly shutting the door behind him.

Kyungsoo stands in the middle of the room, by the foot of Baekhyun’s bed. “Why did you do it?” he asks. The words tumble out faster than his usual speech, but they don’t shake with emotion. He speaks softly, just in case; the walls have ears, after all. They always do.

“Which?” Baekhyun closes the distance between them with quick strides. “Release her, or release you?”

Kyungsoo stares at the ground for a long, hard moment, before bringing his eyes up to Baekhyun’s. His lashes frame his hooded gaze. “Both.”

Baekhyun isn’t sure if it’s his eyes or the dimming evening light toying with his senses, but Kyungsoo is intoxicatingly beautiful. Every little part of him seeps under Baekhyun’s skin like poison; it’s heady and exhilarating and Baekhyun wants less and more at the same time. He trails a hand along the curvature of Kyungsoo’s jaw, marvelling at the sharp edges and angles and the coolness of his skin. “On both counts, I was doing it for someone.”

No words pass between them, but Kyungsoo’s gaze is so intense, prodding Baekhyun for elaboration. “I released Luhan from her woes as an Empress. She was suffering, just not in front of people.” Baekhyun stares straight into his eyes, shifting his hand to swipe a thumb over Kyungsoo’s tightly sealed lips, as if willing them to open. “I did that for someone who kept me afloat through my years.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t falter when Baekhyun tugs him closer by a fistful of his robes. In a whisper, Baekhyun says, “I released you for you, someone who tries to drown me every time I see him.” He pulls down Kyungsoo’s collar, excruciatingly slow and drawn-out on purpose, and presses a kiss against the cross, still red and fresh from the night before.

The needy gasp that escapes Kyungsoo’s lips when Baekhyun sucks on his collarbone stirs something in him, but it’s nothing compared to the mewls and soft groans that tumble out of him when Baekhyun licks the tense veins in his neck, grazes his teeth against his earlobe, bruises the pale expanse of his shoulder.

Kyungsoo is flushed and gasping, one shoulder exposed and a hand in Baekhyun’s hair, gripping at it like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground. Instead of granting him reprieve, Baekhyun steals every last breath with a searing kiss. Kyungsoo’s lips are pliant, opening for his tongue and responding to his ministrations tenfold. _Please, please, please_ and _Baekhyun_ and _take me_ all fall from his mouth when Baekhyun pulls away, tousled hair and red lips.

“I’ve lived all my life doing things for other people, Do Kyungsoo,” he murmurs against Kyungsoo’s jaw. “But I’ll be selfish just this once, and keep you for myself.”

Baekhyun growls low in his throat when Kyungsoo pulls him back up by the hair, lips meeting in another frenzied mess. This is what they are. Baekhyun bites down on his bottom lip, hard. Cool air rushes into Baekhyun’s system when they part, but it doesn’t compare to the slow-burning fire that tears its way through his body, straight down south, when Kyungsoo kisses him.

Kyungsoo’s hand has moved to Baekhyun’s nape, fingers curling. His eyes are shut and he’s still panting; Baekhyun takes strange pride in having pushed him so close to the edge. When he’s gathered himself, Kyungsoo cups Baekhyun’s jaw, angles his face so their eyes meet. “I’d rather drown you than keep you afloat. That way, you won’t be able to run from me. Ever.” Kyungsoo’s fingers are cold. They send chills down Baekhyun’s spine, icicles cutting open the folds of his heart and laying him bare.

 _I’m already yours_ lingers in the air between them.

One last kiss, this one gentler than all the rest, and Baekhyun leaves for the night watch with the taste of blood and Kyungsoo on his tongue.

 

◇

 

The sixth morning after Luhan’s death brings with it a company of men on horseback, bearing a standard that Baekhyun has never seen before. From his vantage point, he reckons there are about ten in the company, all atop brown and gray steeds, save one on a glowing white stallion. A golden helm conceals his face, but he’s clad in the same travelling garment as the rest of his company, a long, slim sword attached to his belt. Baekhyun watches him as he rides by, hard and fast.

He counts three hundred and twenty-seven heartbeats before a messenger comes rushing up to him. “His Excellency requests your presence in his office.”

The horsemaster, Baekhyun is surprised to learn, is introduced as Kim Jongin, His Highness the Crown Prince of Yuzhou. Luhan’s distant cousin, the most immediate family member that can take the throne, and now, the Emperor. He’s almost as tall as Yifan, regal in stature and bearing but nowhere near as seasoned.

Jongin's voice is a lot deeper than Baekhyun would've expected. The rich tone flows like a river under moonlight, steady and mysterious. His immediate orders are succinct and curt, with all the strength and confidence of a prince in his youth, and all the woes and coldness of someone who doesn’t have the luxury of ignorance.

“If Luhan kept you around, I trust you,” he says, addressing Baekhyun, Yixing and Zitao. “I do, however, ask that three more of my men be assimilated into the imperial guard.” The motion is passed unanimously - whether out of actual agreement or desperation, Baekhyun doesn’t know.

Baekhyun is the first to leave the room, taking the main corridor leading out to the gates of the palace complex. He slows his pace when he notices Kyungsoo coming in the opposite direction, notices the flash of surprise that flits across his expression. Baekhyun comes to a stop by one of the balustrades, and Kyungsoo joins him wordlessly, a book nestled in the crook of his arm. They watch the breeze rustle the hedges in the surrounding garden.

Kyungsoo is the first one to break the silence. “Where are you going?”

“Out to the city,” comes Baekhyun’s reply. “His Highness assigned me to perimeter watch,” he clarifies, when Kyungsoo looks at him in confusion.

“The prince is here?”

Just then, Jongin and Junmyeon round the corner, deep in discussion about the army generals and their men. “Adequate measures have been taken to maximise the usage of the outlying personnel,” Junmyeon says, waving his hands.

Jongin looks unconvinced, but Baekhyun can see that his face relaxes somewhat. “Have the gates been secu---” His voice dies in his throat as he stops abruptly in his tracks, only a short distance away from Baekhyun and Kyungsoo. “K-Kyungsoo...?” Jongin’s tone is disbelieving, eyes wide. Junmyeon exchanges a look of puzzlement with Baekhyun.

Kyungsoo tightens his grip on his book. “It’s been a while, Jong--- Your Highness,” he greets, bowing low. Baekhyun is torn between the beautiful dip of Kyungsoo’s neck and the fleeting sadness on Jongin’s face.

Junmyeon politely interjects. “Your Highness, we have a strategy meeting to attend to. The generals are waiting.” Jongin seems to regain his bearings and nods curtly in reply before they proceed down the corridor, but Baekhyun doesn’t miss the way his gaze lingers on Kyungsoo.

Baekhyun stops himself from curling his fingers around Kyungsoo’s wrist just in time. _He’s mine._

Kyungsoo waits until both of them are out of earshot before turning to Baekhyun. “I’ll come with you. I need some fresh air,” he says.

“And the archives?” Baekhyun asks. Just a formality, since he’s already pulling lightly at the hem of Kyungsoo’s sleeves.

Kyungsoo falls into step next to him. “Can take care of itself for a while.”

 

◇

 

The town has fallen into a state of restless peace. The marketplace and merchant organisations are functioning as they should again, Baekhyun notices, as are the smiths and tradesmen. Riots outside the palace gates are far and few in between now, although there has been the occasional silent protest. In the open square, flowers and lanterns have been placed together in the open square in memory of Luhan. There are remains of candles all over the cobblestone; probably remnants of a candlelit vigil.

As they pass the entrance to the city, Kyungsoo comments offhandedly that the influx of people into Xi’an seems to have lessened significantly enough. The gates seem almost empty, save a few carts carrying packages and the occasional horserider. No travellers on foot, no outlandishly decorated merchant carriages. For the first time in what could possibly be a very long time, the guards look bored at their posts.

Baekhyun remembers being here all those weeks ago, the sun burning down on his back and a thirst completely unrelated to the heat coursing through his body. He was driven solely by the letter he’d been given, a promise in ink and in the petals of the flower that came with it. He remembers being hungry, being destructive. Baekhyun convinces himself that he’s still hungry when his eyes glean over Kyungsoo - Kyungsoo in the sun, Kyungsoo quietly walking next to him, ever-curious, ever-beautiful, ever-mysterious Kyungsoo.

He can’t say if he’s still hungry for the same things.

“What are you thinking about?” Kyungsoo asks. Baekhyun distracts himself with the soft swish of Kyungsoo’s robes against the ground, the soft padding of their feet and can’t find an answer.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Give me time to think about it and maybe I’ll get the answer.”

Kyungsoo smiles at him; a small grin, but it’s there. “I don’t give things to people, Byun Baekhyun, I buy, I sell and I trade. Ask me a question and if I answer, you’ll owe me,” he reasons, shifting his book from one arm to the other and turning to look at Baekhyun, gauging his reaction.

“Who is Kim Jongin to you?” Baekhyun deploys the first question that comes to his mind, an instinctive reaction fuelled by genuine curiosity and an odd sense of possessiveness, of needing to know. There’s nobody around, save the smiths and sellers milling around their shops, but he lowers his voice anyway, because it’s quieter than usual.

Kyungsoo mulls over the question, biting the inside of his cheek. He runs a hand through his hair. After three turns, fifty-odd heartbeats of silence and a decreasing distance between them, he says, “I grew up in Yuzhou. My father worked at the archives there too, so I was brought up in the palace.”

Kyungsoo keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead as he speaks, neither ashamed nor proud of his story. His indifference intrigues Baekhyun, but he continues without interruption. “The King passed away when Jongin was really young, so it was just his mother, his two sisters and him. His sisters are a lot older than him and were already dabbling in affairs of state when he was a boy. We became friends when he came to the archives one day.” His gaze flickers to Baekhyun’s face. “When I was seventeen, my father died and I moved to Xi’an. The night before I left, Jongin told me he loved me.”

Baekhyun presses his lips together, but doesn’t try to make his distaste any less apparent. “What did you say to him?”

“I said one question,” Kyungsoo reminds him, but there is no malice in his voice. “You owe me an answer.”

Despite himself, Baekhyun laughs. It’s too easy around Kyungsoo; this game, this push-and-pull, whatever this is, is enjoyable. Baekhyun finds himself wishing it would last. “I was thinking about how I don’t belong.”

Only when they’ve stepped into a shadowy alley does Kyungsoo stop him, fingers pressing lightly against Baekhyun’s side. “What do you mean?” Kyungsoo lets slip another question, waits for another answer.

Baekhyun lifts a hand to Kyungsoo’s neck, splaying it against his clavicle. “I kill people. I kill for fun, for personal satisfaction, not to make a living. Why,” his thumb brushes against the cross he’d made, now scarring against Kyungsoo’s skin, “are you still being around me like I’m safe?”

“You’re not that different,” Kyungsoo says. The only thing that betrays his calm exterior is the slight fluttering of his lashes, the small parting of his lips. “All of us kill in our own ways, Baekhyun. Everybody kills for personal gain. It’s the way we are.” Baekhyun thinks back to his first night in Xi’an, and thinks maybe Kyungsoo’s right.

There is hardly any distance between them now, as Kyungsoo leans in, close enough that even a whisper could be heard. Baekhyun lowers his hands to Kyungsoo’s waist reflexively, as if to catch him when Baekhyun is really the one falling. “I broke and killed Jongin in every way when I told him I didn’t love him back. The only thing I haven’t destroyed is his physical being.”

Kyungsoo finally answers Baekhyun’s question, without asking for anything in return.

Baekhyun shivers when Kyungsoo kisses his throat, then his jaw, then his lips. “I’m leaving. Thank you for the fresh air and the exchange of secrets. Don’t let your guard down, Byun Baekhyun.” Kyungsoo pulls away, straightens his collar and presses his book to his chest.

He only takes a few steps before turning around. “You haven’t been watching the perimeter at all. Someone dangerous might slip in,” Kyungsoo chides in a casual tone. He graces Baekhyun with a smile, slow and calculated and beautiful, like the blooming of a flower in darkness. Baekhyun doesn’t move.

How could he hope to defend the city’s walls when his have already been breached?

 

◇

 

Nights in the palace have been grimmer and quieter as of late. The dark is as sharp and potent as any fine blade, keeping everyone on edge. Breathing becomes harder.

Baekhyun has, on more than one occasion, readied his blade when he sees someone with a purple scarf that is neither Yixing nor Zitao, but then he remembers that three more have been added to their ranks. He’s met one of them by passing earlier in the day, a boy that looks even younger than Jongin, with silver hair and cheshire eyes that gleamed under the sun. A lot taller than Baekhyun but no less agile, if the way he prowled around the corridors, ready to spring at any time, was anything to go by.

Baekhyun stops by the gardens to marvel at the soft glint of the moonlight against the pond water. He likes being here and makes an effort to pass it every night; only darkness does its exquisite beauty the justice it deserves. It’s the only part in the palace that has maintained some semblance of freedom and independence from the gloom in the city; there are no guards around the concourse, just greenery that continues to grow, rain or shine, peace or chaos.

He stares down the length of the corridor, winding away into obscurity, permeated only by the dim moonlight and the soft fire of a torch far in the distance. The shadows are a lot longer now, though, Baekhyun notes in dismay. Black lines hash across the floor from the pillars and balustrades, wider, darker, moving---

The tip of his dagger rests against fabric at the same time as the curling of cold fingers around his neck. Forces in equilibrium; all it takes is a small push for either one of them to break, but Baekhyun notices the odd angle of the hand poised on his skin. It’s not a usual chokehold. The figure is clad completely in black, face concealed by a mask that left only slits for his eyes and nose. He’s not tall, but reasonably built, too strong to be a girl.

“Speak,” Baekhyun orders harshly.

The stranger’s speech and voice is muffled by the thick mask he’s wearing. “You’re not the only one,” he says, voice low and electrifying, and it takes all of Baekhyun’s energy not to loosen his stance. The anonymous figure slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a single white rose, a red ribbon tied around the stem - a carbon copy of the flower Baekhyun had received.

A gasp slips past Baekhyun’s defenses. “If I win first, I’ll join him first. Guess you were his second option,” the stranger says, pocketing the flower again.

He observes Baekhyun for a while. Silence fills the air and the space between them, interrupted only by the quiet sounds of their breathing and the soft trickling of water in the pond. Impatience begins to grip him; Baekhyun applies slight pressure to his dagger, digging it between the folds of the unknown figure’s mask and his clothes. The fingers on his neck shift a little and a searing, blinding pain overwhelms Baekhyun, bringing him to his knees.

Baekhyun bends over on the floor, one hand supporting the weight of his upper body and the other resting lightly on his neck in defense. The pain is incapacitating, ebbing away at a snail’s pace. He pants, gulping for air, feeling as if his windpipe is coming down on him.

The stranger chuckles and speaks again. Baekhyun can barely make out what he’s saying, much less try to commit his voice to memory. “You’re lucky I won’t kill you yet. The game has to end first.” Baekhyun scowls when a set of fingers cards through his hair. He tries to lift his dagger, but all strength in his upper body seems to have left him.

“You’re pretty when you kneel,” is the last thing the stranger murmurs before taking off into the night. It takes Baekhyun long moments before he finds the strength to pick himself off the ground, gathering the remnants of his wounded pride and sore ego, far worse an injury than the blooming bruise against his neck.

 

◇

 

The stranger’s mockery haunts Baekhyun throughout the night, resounding in his every footstep and waiting for him around every turn. The bruise throbs sometimes, and Baekhyun is reminded of his helplessness, how easy it was to disarm him. He balances his time between suppressing his anger and maintaining his bearings, but he lets his feet take him where they please throughout the palace as he switches between the wings.

Only one person has ever been known to be able to do that, at least in the underground circle of assassins. His name was spoken of only in whispers, and even then, only by those that have been in the business for far longer than Baekhyun. The Esper, he who was faceless and killed with no weapons.

“He uses pressure points; he attacks them all at one go. The victims wouldn’t know what hit them,” his benefactor had told him once. The Esper kills without leaving a trace or getting caught, limits the knowledge of his existence to a few people, and even then, none know of his true identity - the penultimate example of an assassin.

He finds himself crossing the threshold of the archives just as the sky begins to brighten outside. Dawn is creeping up on the city; the palace’s occupants will begin to rise soon. Baekhyun isn’t sure what he’s doing at the archives, what brought him there or if it’ll do him any good, he just needs to get away. He needs solace, an asylum, Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo is tending to a disorganised shelf of scrolls at the very back of the archives when Baekhyun finds him. “Baekhyun?” he asks, sounding surprised as he hops off the small stool he’d been using to reach the higher shelves. “What’re you doi---” Kyungsoo stops short when he draws close to Baekhyun, gaze falling on the angry marks on his neck. He places his fingers lightly on the skin, amends his question, and in a softer voice, asks, “What happened?”

He grips Kyungsoo by the shoulder and forces him down. “On your knees,” he says, breathing ragged and heavy.

Kyungsoo obliges, hands resting on the band of Baekhyun’s pants. Baekhyun watches his eyes cloud over and thinks about the way Kyungsoo’s pretty lips would look around his cock. “What do you want me to do?” Kyungsoo asks, eyes never leaving Baekhyun’s, even as he nuzzles his nose against Baekhyun’s dick through the fabric of his pants.

It all happens too fast after that.

Kyungsoo is fire and ice, alternating between slowly flicking his tongue over the tip of Baekhyun’s cock, licking stripes along the underside, and taking him in whole, hollowing his cheeks and panting for air. Baekhyun comes at the back of his throat with a strangled cry, thrusting obscenely into Kyungsoo’s mouth, and Kyungsoo takes it all, swallows his gasps and profanities and groans in a kiss.

Baekhyun returns the favour when he props Kyungsoo up against a wall and takes him there, Kyungsoo mewling and crying out into the palm of his hand when Baekhyun pulls all the way out and slams back in with full force, his thrusts as erratic as the fray of thoughts in his head and the clamour of feelings in his heart. _I will win, I will always win---_

Kyungsoo can barely stand on his own, fingers digging into Baekhyun’s shoulder as he struggles to remain upright. Baekhyun has one hand under his thigh and the other furiously pumping his shaft, urging him on with, face buried in the juncture between Kyungsoo’s neck and shoulder, peppering the skin with angry bites and trails of spit. Kyungsoo comes undone first, unravels in the most beautiful and sinful way possible, prods Baekhyun on to his own completion.

They are their own destruction, their own collapse, and Baekhyun doesn’t kiss Kyungsoo when he pulls out, doesn’t help fix Kyungsoo’s crumpled robes, doesn’t straighten Kyungsoo’s hair before he leaves.

Baekhyun feels like he’s already lost.

 

◇

 

Jongin’s new administration brings about a lot of work and channelling of funds and manpower into different departments. Junmyeon and Yifan are up to their necks with work, as are the rest of the ministerial and secretarial departments. Baekhyun takes perimeter watch when he can, distances himself from the palace and steers clear of the archives. He keeps himself busy throughout the day and is extra vigilant at night.

Baekhyun tries not to sleep, but when he does, he falls asleep with the image of his cock between Kyungsoo’s lips and dreams of the stranger he’d met.

Fire takes him from the inside out for a week.

The eighth night after their tryst in the archives, Baekhyun finds Kyungsoo waiting for him by the gardens, perched on the balustrade and reading a book under the moonlight. He pauses, torn between fight and flight, between wanting Kyungsoo and running away from him. Kyungsoo has always touched Baekhyun like he’s curious, like he wants to know more, like he’s caught in his own web of conflict, but today, when Kyungsoo presses a palm to his cheek, he touches Baekhyun like he wants him to stay.

“I’m not angry at you,” he says gently. “I just need to know.”

Baekhyun does a one-over of his surroundings, despite knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone around. Not now, not here. “Know what?”

Kyungsoo looks him in the eye, bottom lip quivering slightly. He draws Baekhyun closer, open book lying forgotten in his lap. “What is this, Byun Baekhyun? What are we?” he asks. The weight of the question hangs between them, faces only inches apart, made no lighter by the way Kyungsoo is tracing circles with his thumb. “I let you have all of me. I gave myself to you. What does that make us?”

 _A mess_ , Baekhyun wants to say. _A mess of what shouldn’t be and what is wrong._

“I don’t know,” he says instead, leaning into Kyungsoo’s touch. Gentility is a foreign feeling.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Kyungsoo says, somewhat withdrawn now. “I don’t care who you were before you met me. I just need to know if you’ll stay with me.” He doesn’t plead, doesn’t beg, only asks. This is not an ultimatum, it’s a choice, and Baekhyun doesn’t know what to do with it because he hasn’t had that luxury a lot.

Kyungsoo isn’t asking Baekhyun to choose him; he’s asking Baekhyun what his choice is.

Baekhyun presses his lips against Kyungsoo’s, sighing into the kiss. Kyungsoo neither pulls him closer nor pushes him away, only kisses back, because he knows this isn’t supposed to escalate. This is Baekhyun’s answer, his way of saying _yes_ and _no_ and _I want you_ and _I don’t know_ all at the same time.

“Run away with me.” Again, Kyungsoo asks.

Baekhyun kisses his eyelids. “Sell me time, Do Kyungsoo. I need time. I don’t know if this is love; I don’t know what love is.” He brings the back of Kyungsoo’s hand to his lips, never breaking his gaze. “But I want you and I want to stay with you and I’ll follow you. I just need time.”

“You’ve paid your price,” Kyungsoo whispers. “Time is yours.”

“Why do you love me?” The question slips past Baekhyun before he can hold it back.

All Baekhyun has ever lived for are the letters he receives, the people he kills. He takes away one life and lives it for them, carries it on his shoulders wherever he goes. He looks at Kyungsoo now, dark blue hair set aglow in the light, and wonders if he can live for something else now.

Kyungsoo lays a hand flat against the pages of his book. “This is the price you pay, Baekhyun. You’re not allowed to ask me anything else.” Kyungsoo smiles then, dazzling and beautiful, and it’s the most breathtaking he’s ever been.

 

◇

 

A sense of deja vu grips Baekhyun when he fells the two guards by the entrance to Jongin’s chambers. He opens and closes the door silently, noiseless even in the deathly still of the night. Jongin has taken over Luhan’s room, and Baekhyun sees that they haven’t moved anything. The bed is still where he’d murdered Luhan in cold blood, and there are still stacks of books and papers on the desk.

The piece of parchment in Baekhyun’s pocket is weighed down by promise and expectation and pressure. _Your last task, Byun Baekhyun: the new Emperor._ The fully-blossomed blood red rose that accompanied it still sits prettily on Baekhyun’s desk; he hadn’t moved it.

He can see Jongin’s sleeping figure, cocooned in his sheets just like Luhan had been, except Jongin is even younger, even greener, has even brighter prospects than she did. Maybe he could’ve run away with somebody too.

Baekhyun doesn’t have time to register the icy fingers on the back of his neck before he tumbles to the ground, groaning when his head collides with the rough, scratchy surface of the carpet and the rock hard marble beneath it. Another touch on his arm, and he can’t feel anything in his limbs.

Somebody pulls him back up onto his knees by his hair. Baekhyun growls, low in his throat, fighting back a cry when sharp fingernails graze against his scalp. The same masked figure stands above him, unarmed yet so elusive, so invincible, and here Baekhyun is, losing, second, at his mercy yet again.

“Don’t bother about the Emperor,” he says in a voice so cold, Baekhyun feels like he’s been doused with ice water. “I killed him in his sleep. It was fun to see him thrash about.”

“Who _are_ you?” Baekhyun hisses, his entire body immobile and upright only because of the man’s hand in his hair, tugging at his roots.

The figure laughs, and in one swift motion, pulls off the mask. Eyes the colour of midnight rest on him, partly obscured by a long fringe of raven hair. Do Kyungsoo looks down at him, eyes dark and mouth turned downwards in a distasteful smirk. He reaches out to press two fingers to Baekhyun’s temple, and Baekhyun lets loose a whimper as his head throbs in agony. “Afraid?” Kyungsoo asks, in exactly the same tone as he had the night of Luhan’s murder.

“I watched you, Baekhyun. All those years, I watched you and I loved you because you destroyed everything everywhere you went,” Kyungsoo murmurs, enunciating each word with force. “I wanted to be the only one who could break you. I wanted you to be with me.”

“I loved you,” Kyungsoo declares again, running a hand along Baekhyun’s jawline. The touch is gentle, almost as if Baekhyun would break if he presses too hard. “I loved you, and you chose someone that wasn’t me. You chose my facade over me.”

Kyungsoo curls the fingers of his free hand against the back of Baekhyun’s neck, sending jarring pain down his spine. Tears sting the back of his eyes, pool under his lids, spill down the side of his cheeks at the unbearable sensation. “I thought you were the most beautiful when you were killing. I glorified you.” His whisper is rough, clawing at the surface of Baekhyun’s very being, scraping against it. “But this, nothing compares to this. When you cry and when you kneel, you are so, _so_ beautiful.”

“This was your test, Byun Baekhyun, and you failed. I asked you to come to the palace so I could meet you, and feed you emotions. You getting to know Luhan and being in the imperial guard just made everything easier.” Kyungsoo continues his spiel without rest, without giving Baekhyun a chance to slow the torrent of fear and confusion and sadness within him. “If you’d said no to me, if you’d said you didn’t want to run away, I would’ve told you who I was then and there.”

“You’re the Esper,” Baekhyun manages, throat coarse.

“Please. The Esper was my father. I killed him before I moved here; it was just easier to assume his title instead of having to make one for myself.”

Kyungsoo smiles at him. “My last gift to you, Byun Baekhyun, is an answer. I don’t give things to people, so take this as a symbol of my love for you.” He crouches down so they’re eye-to-eye, and kisses him slow, gentle, like a farewell. “You asked me why I loved you.”

Kyungsoo readies his thumb on Baekhyun’s left temple, stretches the other fingers till the column of his neck. The other rests over Baekhyun’s chest. “You burnt my letters instead of keeping them. You were my flower, the one that festered in darkness instead of light.” Baekhyun still shudders when Kyungsoo nips at his earlobe, mouth heavy on his skin, still hot with want and need.

“You were lovely in your deepest pain, in your weakest hour, and on your darkest nights.”

Baekhyun never rouses from his sleep again.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written [here](http://thebaekfest.livejournal.com/16948.html) for everyone, thebaekfest 2013/14 (thebaekfest @ LJ). Thank you for the amazing prompts that gave inspiration for this fic! Much love from the bottom of my heart also for Reeza and Sarah for all the hand-holding and lending me strength while I was writing this; I couldn't have done it without you ♥
> 
> # Xi'an is the old name for China's modern day Chang'an, and was actually the Imperial City and administrative capital.  
> # The name of the palace, Weiyang (未央), translates to 'something that still has more than half left to go', a concept played on in this fic - happiness is a long way away from its occupants, or will likely never be fully attained. (Fun fact: this is the largest palace to be built on Earth!)  
> # Please excuse the discrepancies of Korean officials in the palace; the characters' Korean names were retained although this was written with the idea that all of them go by their Chinese names and converse in Mandarin.


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